Crocodile Tears
by abbyepic
Summary: "The truth was that, if there was something between the two of them, he would be the last to know." Her name was Irina Dolohov, and life was her own personal puppet show. Sirius was her favorite marionette. SB/OC
1. Prologue

**_Disclaimer: I don't own the _Harry Potter_ series or Sirius Black. Both are the creations of J.K. Rowling. I just enjoy playing with other people's toys.  
><em>**

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><p>Once upon a time, there was a boy and a girl. What else is there to say?<p>

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><p>They met for the first time when she was four and he had just turned five, and at least at the moment, they were both <em>respectable pureblood children<em>. In other words, they were both small, ill-tempered creatures made of pinched faces, sallow complexions, and a disproportionate amount of cynicism, who were nothing more than pets in _respectable pureblood society. _This arrangement had been made strictly for the benefit of their mothers, who seemed to be good friends even though they said they hadn't seen one another in years, and planned to use the children as a convenient excuse to gossip together.

They were exiled to a corner of the back garden of 12 Grimmauld Place, where a miniature set of table and chairs made of green stained glass sat near the rosebushes, so that their mothers could have adult conversations about how things have gone to hell in the six years since the Dolohovs moved to Russia without seeming to neglect their children. The afternoon was surprisingly warm for October, and so they had been herded outside without a second thought.

She would have sooner shared this corner of the garden with a pig or a dragon than this boy.

Her companion was called Sirius by his mother and Young Master Black by the elf that brought their lemonade, and she thought that he was simply too pretty to be a real boy. His eyes were the same color as her mother's silver broach and his hair was silky black and when he smiled impishly at her she thought that the sun got a bit brighter.

She hated him from the start.

It was at least partially because she knew that he was making fun of her. She knew only the meanest basics of the English language, but snickering is a universal sound and his tone could only be one of mocking when he spoke to her. There was nothing, never would be anything, that she hated more than the sound of being mocked. Her cheeks glowed red and she muttered something that he can't really hear.

What she said, in Russian, was _"Don't make fun of me," _and even at four, she never made an idle threat.

"Stupid girl," Sirius said with a smirk. "Can't even speak English, can you? You must be stupid. My mother says that I must pity those who are not at my level, so-"

He then began to howl with pain as she kicked his shin with her pointy-toed leather shoes. His face flamed even redder than the roses beside him.

"Stupid girl," he snarled at her. He then proceeded to shove her away from him with both hands - hard enough to send her sprawling into a rosebush.

She blinked at him for a moment before she opened her mouth and began to wail. It was an unearthly sound, one that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and immediately triggered a reaction from their mothers. They dashed from their seats on the patio over to where the children were; one look at Sirius' flushed cheeks and the girl's teary face told them the story before either of them could ask.

"Irina," her mother muttered as the crying girl hurtled into her arms. The two of them had conversation in Russian that seemed to consist mainly of Irina sobbing into her mother's shirt and her mother whispering soothing words into her hair.

In stark contrast to that scene, Sirius' mother boxed his ears. "Sirius Orion Black," she barked. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself! No respectable little boy should ever push a girl like that!"

"She kicked me first!" Sirius argued fiercely. He cringed and rubbed at his ears. "Besides, she isn't hurt! Look, she's not even bleeding!"

"Lies and excuses!" Walburga Black began to shake her son's shoulders violently. She had that glint in her eyes that Sirius knew meant only trouble. "But you should hope I never see you strike a girl again, or so help me-"

"Go easy on the boy, Walburga," Mrs. Dolohov said in a voice as smooth as silk. She held her daughter on her hip, Irina's face burrowed into her hair. Her expression was ice cold as she scrutinized the red-faced child. "I'm sure that he meant no harm. After all, he is only a child."

Walburga's mouth was still a harsh, thin line. "Kreacher!" she yelled into the air, and the house-elf appeared very suddenly at her side. "Please take Master Sirius inside immediately. He'll need to spend the rest of the evening in his bedroom. Without dinner, I should think."

"But Mother," Sirius protested desperately, "it's really all her fault, I swear…She deserved it!" The elf responded to this with a dirty, skeptical look as reached his arm towards the boy. Sirius shouted at him, called him every name that he could think of as he desperately tried to squirm away, but Kreacher hooked his calloused hand around the boy's wrist determinedly.

And the last thing that poor, unsuspecting Sirius Black saw before the elf Apparated him to his bedroom was Irina Dolohov's triumphant smile and her lighthearted wave.

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><p>Once upon a time, there was an insufferable boy and a girl who only ever cried crocodile tears.<p> 


	2. I: Malice

_**Thank you to the nine people who reviewed the last chapter. I adore you~**_

_**To those of you who have also read my other Harry Potter fics, Hero Complex/Separation Anxiety: prepare thyself. This story is different from that series in almost every way, from POV to setting to tone to the main character. I even attempted to write in prose for this, people. Irina Dolohov is to Kate Foster (my other OC) as a doberman is to a cocker spaniel.  
><strong>_

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><p>"She may be going to Hell, of course, but at least she isn't standing still."<p>

- e.e. cummings

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><p>There was to be a wedding at Parkinson Estate, and Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson were determined that it would be the social event of the season. It was going to be a lavish and crass display of wealth that would forever mark that Parkinsons as <em>nouveau riche<em> and therefore not on the same level as their guests. The wedding guests would sneer at the moving ice sculptures disdainfully rather than finding delight in the obese crystalline cherubs, which seemed to sweat under the August sun. Children would run a muck in the garden, ripping the wings off of the pixie ornamentation, and their parents would let them because live fairy lights had been out of style for close to three years. Young women would snicker into their gloved hands at the sight of the bride's hideous gown, a monstrosity made of taffeta and tulle. The Parkinsons, whether they knew it or not, would never live down this tawdry affair. Neither, for that matter, would the Dolohovs.

Horrid things happened when people married for love.

So reflected Irina Dolohov as she sat in the guest cottage of the Parkinson Estate and contemplated the damage that her brother's marriage would deal to the family reputation. Her brother's bride-to-be sat only a few feet away in front of an ornate mirror, where Irina's fellow bridesmaids were crowded around her and cooed. Nanette Parkinson was hardly the type that she would pick for her brother; she was petty, emotional, and none too bright, whereas Antonin was stoic, ambitious, and highly intelligent. She didn't even have a particularly impressive bloodline. The only things that Nanette had going for her were her pretty face and her family's money, which were apparently the only things that Antonin desired in his perfect match.

And as if Antonin's marrying an absolute bimbo wasn't enough, Irina was also obligated to be a bridesmaid in the wedding. This meant she was obligated to wear the ugliest dress robes in the history of ugly dress robes, a puce gown that made Irina look like a child playing dress-up in her grandmother's closet. It was alternatively loose and baggy in exactly the wrong places; the color drained that color of her hair and eyes and made her pale skin look almost yellow.

_Be patient, _she reminded herself, her fingers attempting to smooth a wrinkle out of the fabric and failing. _It will all be worth it. _

"Oh, Irina," called a familiar, cloying voice. She looked up to see her future sister-in-law and the other bridesmaids all turned towards her expectantly. Nanette smiled at her, but it was a tight and unenthusiastic grin. "Ira, dear, you've hardly said a word all morning. Tell me, how do you think that I look?"

Irina stretched her lips into an insincere smile. "Nanette, I think that you're beautiful." It wasn't a lie. Nanette was very pretty. She just also happened to be irritating and obviously fake. "I've never seen a dress like yours. No one will be able to take their eyes off of you."

This was also true. No one would be able to take their eyes off of the disaster that was Nanette's dress. It was shaped like a wedding cake, with layers of tulle that stuck out at strange interval. The tulle was covered in white silk with tiny pearls stitched in. The lace bodice was far too tight, so that skin seemed to bubble over the top. To top the whole thing off, the bow on the back of the dress was as big as Irina's head.

That wasn't even mentioning her curly blond pompadour or the obscene amount of blue eye shadow that ringed her eyes.

"Oh, you are _such_ a poppet, Irina." Nanette glowed at the praise. There was some kind of strange approval in her eyes, as if Irina had passed an unspoken test. "Isn't she darling, girls? Antonin simply adores his baby sister, and he's so sweet with her. He says he can't wait to have children of our own."

Irina repressed a loud and disgraceful snort. She wasn't an infant, and her brother didn't give a damn about having children of his own. He most likely wanted to get Nanette in bed, which wasn't all that hard, and he would probably be spitting mad when that wedding dress came off to reveal the baby bump that she had been so carefully hiding.

Especially since it wasn't his baby.

Irina had been suspicious weeks before, when Nanette had started wearing loose-fitting clothes and acting much more high-strung than normally. She was often nauseous and had to rush to the bathroom on more than one occasion. Other people who had noticed had chalked it up to pre-wedding nerves, but Irina had seen the way that her hand would rest on her stomach ever-so-lightly when she thought that no one else was looking. She had gotten the proof that she needed three days before, when Nanette and her maid of honor had come to the Dolohov home to speak with Irina's mother. Nanette had run to the bathroom suddenly, and Ada had gone after her frantically; when Irina had followed them up a few minutes later (ostensibly to check up on her future sister-in-law, rather than to eavesdrop on her conversation), she had stood outside the bathroom door and listened to Nanette tell Ada everything.

Well, she had kindly excluded the fact that Antonin was not her child's father. But that had been something that Irina had put together herself when Nanette had told Ada that she was eighteen weeks pregnant. What Irina knew (and Ada did not) was that, eighteen weeks ago, Antonin had been in Russia with their father. They had been gone the entire month of April on business, and even after they came back, Irina had overheard a few too many conversations about Antonin's lack of a sex life since.

Irina hadn't told her brother (or the other members of their family, for that matter) about Nanette's pregnancy yet, and she didn't plan to. As far as she was concerned, he should have listened when she told him not to propose. He deserved what he was going to get. Both of them did. Still, she thought, it didn't seem right to not warn him. If she gave him one more chance to call off the wedding, one more little push, perhaps the whole disaster could be avoided.

"Speaking of Antonin," Irina began. She used a tone as sweet and as shy as she could, which always won over people like Nanette. "Would you mind terribly if I went to see him for a moment, before the wedding starts? I want to wish him luck and remind him of what he's supposed to say. I'm afraid that one look at you will make him forget all of the words."

Nanette and her group giggled. "Well, by all means, go. We can't have that, can we?" Nanette said conspiratorially.

Irina replied with a lopsided smile as she stood and left the guest house.

The smile vanished instantly as she closed the door behind her, replaced with a no-nonsense look of determination as she stormed across the lawn of the estate. She walked past the rows of chairs and the make-shift alter that had been assembled for the wedding, ignored the buzzing sound of the pixies lurking in the roses, and refused to look at the perspiring Cupid by the mansion's back entrance. Irina mumbled "thank you" to a young man who opened the door for her (an employee, not an early attendee or a groomsman) and strode quickly to the staircase. A few short minutes after she had left her fellow bridesmaids, she reached the room that she knew the groomsmen were preparing in.

Irina scowled as she began to pound her knuckles against the heavy oak door.

"Antonin? It's me, Irina. I need to speak with you." There was no answer from the other side of the door, and her knocking redoubled. "Let me in this instant, Antonin! This is important!"

The door was pulled from under her fist abruptly, and a familiar face stuck out of the doorway. Irina found herself staring up into the face of Rabastan Lestrange, one of her brother's closest friends. Rabastan was tall with a dark coloring, and he looked like a madman. That was the only way Irina could ever describe his wild eyes and his manic smile, but it was as apt of a description as any.

"Well, if it isn't little Ira!" Rabastan laughed. "Have you been playing in your mother's wardrobe again, little Ira?"

"No," she said stiffly. She had never liked him. "Move out of my way, Rabastan. I need to speak with my brother." She attempted to step around him, but Rabastan swiftly blocked her entrance to the room.

"Your brother wants me to tell you that he's currently dressed in only his underwear. He says to tell you to piss off and that he'll see you at the ceremony," Rabastan informed her. For all of his bravado and apparent insanity, Rabastan was best at taking orders from others. He was usually dominated either by Antonin or his own brother, Rodolphus.

Irina's lip warped into a sneer. "As if I care!"

It didn't matter; Rabastan shut the door in her face, leaving the girl to stare at the wood grain with contempt. She began to rap on the door again.

"_Antonin Dolohov the third_," she began, speaking in Russian. She didn't particularly like to speak her first language in public, but it usually proved to be quite the effective tool. Irina had long ago realized that words in English didn't have quite the punch of a properly worded Russian threat. It also had the added bonus of being unintelligible to most Englishmen. "_Antonin, let me in, or I swear to Merlin that I will tell everyone at your wedding reception about the time that I looked out my bedroom window at midnight to see you and Nanette swimming in the pond in the nude!_"

There was a pause. The door swung open again, Rabastan's face darting back into view. "You've got five minutes."

She pushed past him roughly and stormed into the room, where she found her brother standing in his underwear with his arms crossed over his chest. Antonin Dolohov bore an uncanny resemblance to their father, who was also Antonin Dolohov, from his perpetual from to his black curls to his brown eyes. He and Irina had the same eyes and the same nose and the same dimples, but on Antonin, they were something special. Apparently, in light of the recent threat, he had decided that wearing his robes while speaking to his sister was not all that important.

"What is it now, Irina?" he asked tiredly. Antonin had a keen understanding of his little sister that most people did not; he knew that she was always scheming. It was one reason why she admired him so much, despite everything else.

"Make them get out," she demanded, tucking her hair behind her ear. Antonin sighed and gave his friends an appealing look, and they reluctantly left the room.

"They're gone. Now tell me what it is you have to say."

Irina took a deep breath. "Antonin, your fiancée is a trollop and I want you to call off the wedding."

His reaction was what she had expected. Antonin's expression went from apathetic to stormy in an instant, he eyes flashing. "Get out, Irina. I don't want to speak to you."

"Antonin, I'm not trying to insult you. I'm trying to warn you!" she said, color flooding her cheeks. She had known that he would act like this; why was it so hard to watch? "Antonin," she pleaded. She changed her voice so that her voice was low and soothing, allowed her eyes to go wide and innocent. "I'm begging you, Ant. Don't go through with it. If you do, I promise you that this will end badly. Please call this off before someone gets hurt. Before you get hurt."

Antonin looked surprised. "Do you really think that I'm going to be hurt by all of this?"

"Yes."

"Ira," Antonin said after a long moment. He always sighed when he called her by her childhood nickname; in that way, he was exactly like their mother. "Ira, you are my sister and I care for you very much. I understand that you think that my marrying Nanette is a bad choice, but it isn't your choice to make. Unless you can understand that, I do not want you in my life."

Irina was stunned. In her life, Antonin had made many threats. He had threatened to push her off the roof of their house. He had threatened to have her sent to Russia to live with their extended family. He had threatened to behead her dolls and to castrate her stuffed animals, to hex her and beat her and tattle her many lies and schemes to their parents. Despite all of that, Antonin was her brother. He was one of her staunchest supporters and one of the only people in the world that Irina really loved. He had never before threatened to cut her out of his life completely, no matter how angry he was.

It was unacceptable.

"Alright. I understand," she whispered. A single tear rolled down her cheek, which she wiped away with the back of her hand. As if on a sudden impulse, she closed the distance between herself and her brother and threw her arms around his neck. "But you can't say that I didn't warn you, Antonin. I tried. I really did."

She brushed her lips against his cheek briefly, and then left. She made sure to push past Rabastan Lestrange extra hard on the way by.

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><p>The wedding reception was a work of art, if that art was made by a seven-year-old girl and coated in glitter. There were a number of tables and chairs set up across the garden from the scene of the wedding, under a humongous white tent that seemed to glare in the light of the setting sun, chairs all decorated with bows to match Nanette's dress and tables laden with enough roses to fill Hogwarts castle. In the middle of the tent was a large space, where the newly married couple was now dancing alone to the music from a small, formal-looking band. Irina, watching from a distance, kept her face carefully neutral as Nanette seemed to whisper something in Antonin's ear. He responded with a laugh and kissed her for everyone to see. All eyes were on the two of them, and as strange as it was, Irina supposed that they looked happy together.<p>

Idiots.

She pushed away the remainder of her slice of cake, no longer hungry. To her left, her aunt and uncle conversed easily, while her mother was complacently watching the newlyweds to her right. She had no idea where her father had gone, but she didn't care. Her father would have noticed the girl as she pushed away from the table and stalked to the far corner of the garden, leaving behind only a napkin in her seat. It would be an excellent vantage point for the night's main entertainment (the one no one else knew about), far from the center of the action and yet close enough for the sounds to travel. She was slightly surprised when she found that the corner was not unoccupied.

From his position leaning against the Parkinsons' garden wall, Sirius Black scowled in disgust as he watched the couple dancing. He looked like a boy surrounded by rotting corpses, rather than one surrounded by wizarding society's finest. It was almost twelve years since the day they first met, in a far corner of his mother's garden, and he was still the prettiest boy that Irina had ever met. His hair was still thick, curly, and luscious, but it was notably less tidy than it had been when he was five years old. He still had silver gray eyes, but they seemed even stormy now than they had when he was a child. Those were all well and good, but he had that distinctive Black family beauty that never went unnoticed. At Hogwarts, girls would swoon at his feet. Her lips twisted into a smile as she took him in. He was certainly a surprise, but not an unwelcome one.

"Sirius Black," she said pleasantly. "Well, I hardly expected you to be here. I spoke to Regulus, but I thought that you would be too…busy to attend. Let me guess – did your mother make you come?"

Sirius grunted noncommittally. He scowled deeper as he and Irina locked eyes. Looking at her always left him feel slight cheated. When he was a little boy, he had expected her to grow into a beautiful woman because surely only a beautiful woman could get away with being as troublesome as Irina Dolohov. He had been wrong. Her blonde hair was just blonde, never golden. Her brown eyes were just brown, never chocolaty. Her teeth were straight, but when she smiled, her smile was the tiniest bit lopsided. He couldn't understand what so many people found so appealing in her.

Unless it was her confidence. Irina Dolohov, the self-righteous little girl, had plenty of confidence.

She sighed a little in response. "It's the same for me, I'm afraid," she admitted.

"Isn't this your brother's wedding?" Sirius asked despite himself.

Irina blinked. With that question, he had really thrown her off guard. "Why ever would that meant that I wanted to come? I don't like Nanette. I don't want her to part of my family. I'm here purely because I have an obligation to my brother, and that's all there is to it."

From across the garden, there was a loud gasp as a large, bulky man stormed past the party guests and directly towards the dance floor. It appeared to be Nanette who had gasped; her mouth hung open unattractively and the color drained from her face. He trudged to the couple and seemed to push Antonin out of the way with one hand. He began to yell at the pair of them, his words too distant and too muddled to be fully understood. Nanette shrieked something back, also too distressed to be fully understood. Antonin stepped back in between the arguing pair with his wand out of his pocket, but he didn't seem to know who to point it at.

"Ah. It seems like our late party guest has arrived." Irina pointed to the man who had cut in on the dance, her eyes gleaming. "That would be Elias Crabbe, whose older brother is an associate of my father's. He and Antonin shared a dorm during their Hogwarts year. I suppose that he wasn't invited to the wedding because he and the bride had an affair while my brother was out of town. It appears that Mr. Crabbe has come anyway, probably because someone has told him that Nanette is pregnant with his baby."

She watched the scene unfold with a strange calm, for a girl who was watching her brother's wedding go down the drain. "Sirius, can I tell you a secret?" Without waiting for his answer, she went on. "I'm the one who told Elias that Nanette is pregnant."

She smiled impishly at Sirius' startled expression and held a finger up to her lips. "Hush. Remember, it's a secret."

Then she flounced away in her ugly bridesmaid's dress, back towards the table where her family sat flummoxed.

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><p><strong><em>Reviews are much appreciated. Let me know what you think about this different style and character, hmm?<em>**


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